Buscador

lunes, 13 de febrero de 2017

And I.... Because of you, CR VocalesV

“First love never dies, but real love comes to bury it alive…”-Mahmoud Darwish

When I met you, we were already late for everything
but we passed through open gates smiling,
accepting our faith.
I pulled the night out of your tongue
and you discovered true darkness
in my eyes.
Never had you seen anyone looking
so unintentionally sad.

There were balloons, dances, squatters
and a world in miniature to take our clothes off
and walk naked.
Your soul was an open window that filled
the house with fresh air,
a white flag in the middle of an open field,
I observed you so much those days
that my memories run in my head like scenes of a movie.

You crushed my alienation with music and philosophers
and second-hand books that you bought in every corner
just because you liked to see me smile.
I will never forget how diligently you corrected my French
ever so gentle, ever so patient,
listening for hours while I recited the verbs, fascinated and frustrated,
and proceeding without complains when at the beginning of a film
I would shout at you “s'il te plait mon amour les sous-titres, ils
parlent très vite!”
and you would just look at me, laughing at my temper, and my accent,and kissing me, and then we would forget about the film and now we keep a list of unwatched films that gets larger with the days.

And I learned your past full of miscarriages and Russian dolls
and I pierced my nipple to avoid killing you at night in your sleep
and slowly you understood how crazy I was
and you stayed and loved me even more, nevertheless.
And one night you told me that loving me was holding
my hand at the hospital hoping for me to wake up.

And we learned to bleed together
and now it is hard to remember what it was like
to walk the streets without you.
And when you’re gone
I refuse to leave our place, I do not open the curtains
and I purposely stay in the dark, waiting
like I never waited for anyone before,
like our cat in front of the window
I stay,
I do not abandon anymore.

And when you come back I yell at you
“I can’t write anymore, you make me too happy!”
and you laugh offended,
and you hold me by the waist and I dare to go out
to see the world again, to discover the smells,
the colors, the people, I learn to speak my languages again,
and I relearn to turn my headwhenever someone calls me by my name.
I relearn all the things that I forget when you’re gone.

And when I go mad, you let me go mad
but you never leave my side
just as you never attempt to give me peace,
instead, you go to bed with me
surrounded by my demons
and you hear me breathe until I fall asleep
before you fall asleep too.
You understand my nature with your silence
and your wisdom never ceases to surprise me
but above all it is your mind I respect the most,
your mind and the immense influence it has
in everything I do.

I
carry your voice in my rotten veins,
I carry your thoughts in my childless womb,
I carry your promises in my hand,
like a beggar would carry his coins.
I carry the smell of the summer rain
that repeats itself in a loop
allowing me to see the two of us
three years ago
crossing the Blauwbrug in Amsterdam
with a flat tire in your bike,
laughing,
knowing already that we wouldn’t let go.

That night I became what I wanted to be
and I carry that truth like an offering
to the old gods.You ripped my chest like an executionerand when I looked at you I asked:"If we're one, why aren't you bleeding?"